a love that won't sit still
by Lachesis Grimm
Summary: Phil had never before stopped to think that his home might be just a bit haunted- and in the traditional sense, it wasn't. Sequel to "eyes meeting over the noise." Jemma Simmons/Phil Coulson.


AN: The title is from Vienna Teng's "Stray Italian Greyhound."

* * *

 _so what do I do with this_  
 _this sudden burst of sunlight_  
 _and me with my umbrella_  
 _cross-indexing every weatherman's report_  
 _was ready for the downslide_  
 _but not for spring to well up_  
-"Stray Italian Greyhound," Vienna Teng

"That," his petite, adorable fiancée said into her phone, "is bollocks."

Phil grinned as he filled two wine glasses, happy to even be a spectator to this (far-too-common) conversation. He had never thought to expect moments like this when he had first decided to befriend the British genius who had somehow ended up in his crew of hard-partying party-makers. Jemma had stood out, for sure, sweet and quiet amongst the powerhouses that were Bobbi and Skye… though as he now knew, that sweetness and quietness went hand-in-hand with a decided wit, a keen mind, and an enthusiasm for sex that he very much appreciated.

Or an enthusiasm for him, he supposed, which was even better.

And there she was, his fiancée, frowning, her cell phone cradled between shoulder and cheek as she argued with her landlord over a leaking pipe while simultaneously petting Sif. He had offered to handle her landlord for her, but after that first Christmas intervention she had politely refused to allow him to handle any of her problems. And then she usually kissed him, and he was still so caught up in how wonderful it was to be loved again that it was a pretty good distraction tactic.

Jemma's mouth dropped open and she grabbed the phone, holding it at a distance. "He hung up on me," she said in disbelief, ignoring Sif's displeased mutter. "Bloody hell."

He set a full glass of wine on the table near her, taking Sif's spot in the middle of the couch when the cat streaked away. "Do you want me to call?"

"No, dear," she said almost absently, frowning again when her redial went straight to voicemail. "Do you know any assassins?"

Phil briefly considered Natasha and Clint- who, while not assassins, were always excellent with Halloween parties- but then shook his head. "My address book is sadly limited." He pulled her feet into his lap, divesting her of her socks. "When does your lease end?"

She looked at him, finally, her surprise evident. "Two months."

As he began to rub one of her feet, she blushed- and that was unexpected. "I thought I would ask for another six months," she said slowly. "The wedding isn't until September… I didn't want to presume."

Phil considered her fondly, at that, neither surprised nor at all irritated. "You're here at least five nights out of seven," he pointed out gently, pressing a thumb into her arch. "Your favorite tea is in the cabinet, your makeup takes up half the counter space in the bathroom-"

"Oh," she said, looking distressed. "That much?"

"I was exaggerating." He wasn't entirely sure where this new reticence had come from, but he would figure it out eventually. "I want you here every night, Jemma. If you want to renew your lease, that's fine, but I would be very happy if you moved in as soon as possible."

She watched him for a moment, her gaze unreadable, then smiled slowly. "You would probably be a better landlord," she said teasingly. "I bet you would be willing to pay for a plumber."

"I've been known to hire all manner of professionals for home-upkeep," he replied, ignoring the slight nagging feeling in his stomach. "I even change lightbulbs myself."

"My hero." She held oddly still as he continued to massage her foot, but her smile was warm. "We'll have to sit down and discuss how to divvy out utilities and household expenses," she said practically. "And the mortgage payment."

"You, me, a bottle of wine and a stack of bills… sounds like a fun night," he teased. "Though frankly, Jemma, there isn't a mortgage payment."

She gave him an expression of disbelief. "Phil, you live in the suburbs of Boston. The housing market… even when you moved here…"

She broke from her confused speech, and laughed in a way that was almost nervous. "Corporate must have paid well."

"It did." He didn't keep a grip on her foot as she shifted a few inches back, aware that they were treading on a potentially fraught topic. "But between the life insurance and savings, a small house wasn't much of a burden."

He didn't clarify that the life insurance in question was Audrey's, but that went unsaid. And in reality, her life insurance- one of the benefits of working for corporate- had made up the bulk of his admittedly spur-of-the-moment purchase, when the burden of living with her ghost had grown too great.

She blinked, obviously considering his statement. "Well, utilities and household expenses, at least," she said finally, firmly. "I'm not just going to marry you and then refuse to lift a finger."

"I know." He tickled a finger against her toes, a smile on his face. "We're partners, Jemma. Though," he added, watching her expression, "I hope you will consider my money our money, in the long run."

"I know it is. Or will be," she amended. "Just as mine is yours. And I expect that over time we'll change how we do things, as our finances become intertwined… but I would like to sit down with you sometime soon, so that we have a good basis to start from."

"Complete honesty," he promised, feeling some tension disappear from his shoulders. "I'll even bring my credit report and bank statements."

She blushed again. "I'll do the same, though I fear you'll think the less of me."

He held out an arm, relieved when she moved toward him without hesitation and settled against his side. "I hate to point it out- because you might come to your senses- but we are in different life stages," he said, then hurried to continue when her jaw firmed and she looked to argue. "I just mean that I've had... more time, so to speak, to put myself in a good financial position. I spent most of my twenties digging myself out of student debt and building savings bit by bit, trust me."

Her stiff body language relaxed. "I suppose so." Her gaze flicked away briefly, then back. "And I've made several emotional decisions regarding my savings, as you know. And," she added, a healthy dose of shame in her voice, "I would understand if you wanted to keep our finances separate because of it."

"Jemma." He curled his arm around her, breathing easier when she tucked close, her face against his neck. "I trust you absolutely. You are the kindest person I know."

"You can never tell them you're wealthy," she said, her lips brushing against his skin. "Promise me, Phil."

"I certainly won't hand them my 401k statements." He ran a hand over her hair, full of things he wanted to say about her family and unsure which things would actually be helpful. "I'm your ally," he said instead. "You and me, against the world."

She sniffled against his neck, her tears evident. "You might decide otherwise, once you realize what you've married into."

"Why would I? I'll have my Jemma. I know how to deal with in-laws."

The latter felt like a slip-up, but to his relief she didn't seem to recognize it. "I want to be a Coulson," she murmured. "I want to take your name."

He tightened his arm slightly around her in response. Phil had never been one to think that his surname trumped his wife's maiden name- Audrey had not taken his name, and that had never even been a glitch on his radar- but he found himself strangely affected by her statement. He had never even considered that Jemma might decide to change her name, and certainly hadn't pinned his hopes on it. "I would be honored if you did," he said honestly, feeling a little teary himself. "Just remember, Jem: I'm your ally."

She snuggled closer. "And I'm yours."

* * *

Though Phil was very glad that Jemma was thriving in her teaching post at Xavier's academy, there were times when he dearly missed having her on his crew.

Particularly when a Peggy was needed.

"It's not my fault wardrobe botched the hem length," Bobbi said dryly, adjusting the red hat at a angle over her eyes, and ignoring the fact that her skirt- which should have come to below her knees- did not. "I could have traded places with Skye and played Belle."

"That dress would have hit you at the knees, if it fit at all." Phil considered the situation rather more gloomily than was necessary. "And the last time you played Belle versus Ward's Gaston you threatened to knee him in the balls."

"I just don't like him," Bobbi admitted, her tone thoughtful. "He's just… a total jackass."

There were times when Phil felt much the same. He had a sneaking suspicion that Ward was reporting to Garrett, a local competitor who largely specialized in wild keg parties, but without proof there wasn't much he could do on that score.

Besides, the idea of Garrett running a tea party- laughable.

"So," Bobbi said with a teasing grin, taking a seat on a nearby table, "Jemma says you're moving in together."

"Finally," someone else said, and they both turned to see May in the doorway, a red skirt on her hands. "Don't give Wardrobe grief," she said, a brow raised. "They didn't botch the hem length, they just accidentally mixed up Skye's skirt with yours."

"My hero," Bobbi said cheerfully, catching the skirt when May tossed it to her. "Continue interrogating him while I change, okay?" she said as she slipped into the bathroom.

"I don't need to be interrogated." Phil shrugged. "Her lease is up. She's been more or less living with me for the past six months as it is."

"Hmm." May leaned against the wall, a faint smile on her face. "I'm looking forward to seeing what she does with the place."

"Are you insulting my decorating skills?"

"No." She shrugged. "Things are going to change, that's all."

He considered that, shrugging in return. "She does have a lot of books."

May blinked at him, the natural movement seeming more weighted with meaning than usual. "That is true."

He leveled a steady look at her. "What is it, May?"

She opened her mouth as if to respond, but at that moment Bobbi- one of the great quick-change masters- burst back into the room. "Better, right?" she said, spinning to show off her regulation hem length.

"You'll figure it out," May said with a brief pat to his shoulder, abandoning whatever bit of wisdom she had been intending to give him.

"What are you going to figure out?" Bobbi asked him as May walked away, one brow arched.

"Hell if I know," he replied, and shelved the conversation under 'mysterious shit May says' for later review.

* * *

When Phil arrived to help Jemma move her things several weeks later, he found her waiting in an almost empty apartment, sitting on one box of maybe a dozen. "Is this it?" he asked, glancing around the room. "What happened to everything else?"

She shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. "I listed the furniture on craigslist and donated my old kitchen things to a local charity store. No point in mixing in my old pots and pans with your far better ones."

He turned in a slow circle, examining the room. He had not spent much time there- not nearly as much time as Jemma had spent in his- their- home. The ceilings were low, the bathroom miniscule, the walls thin as paper. That being said, he had fond memories of the few nights that he had spent curled up with Jemma on her small bed, under the quilt her grandmother had made. He checked his watch: nine am. "Did everyone pick up the furniture this morning?"

"Just the bed," she answered easily. "The others came yesterday afternoon." She stood, examining the room as well. "It almost looks big, with everything gone."

Between her car and his they made the move in one trip. Several of her boxes went to their bedroom, where Jemma unpacked what portion of her wardrobe had never made the transition to his home over the past few months.

"What do you think about adding another bookcase in the living room?" he asked her, feeling a pang of guilt for not thinking about it beforehand. "There's enough room for a big one near the kitchen."

"That would be lovely." Jemma frowned at the pile of boxes, a smudge of dirt on her nose. "Where should we put them, until then?"

"I'll put them in the corner of my office. Sif will appreciate having a new height to scale."

And that was that. It was the smoothest and quickest move Phil had ever been party to. He joined her in the bedroom, where she was breaking down several empty boxes, a clean change of clothing stacked neatly on the bedspread. A shower appeared to be in her immediate future, an idea that was suddenly very tempting to Phil as well.

He took the flattened boxes and leaned them against the wall next to the door, then snagged her by the waist. "It's not even noon," he noted with a smile, wiping the smudge off her nose with his thumb. "We're already done."

"I can't imagine how we'll amuse ourselves for the rest of the day," she replied with a teasing look. "Perhaps you can think on it while I'm in the shower."

"I'll consider it while I'm with you in the shower." He spun her in a half circle and pushed her lightly toward the bathroom door, bypassing her stack of clothing as she laughed. "We're both all dusty."

"It does feel kind of momentous, in an odd way, even though I've spent so many nights here." Once in the bathroom she toed off her shoes, watching him in the mirror as he pulled off his sweater. "First shower in _our_ home. First meal, first night's sleep."

"You skipped an important bit in between," he reminded her, reaching into the shower to turn on the water. "First official bout of sex in our bed."

"Oh, I thought that was implied." She reached into a jar on the counter, pulling out several clips which she used to pin her hair up. "We're going to have to christen the house all over again."

Even he could tell that his answering grin was distinctly wolfish. "So thorough, as always."

Jemma stepped into the shower with a swing of her hips, the vision of a modern Venus. "Come wash my back, Phil," she said, crooking her finger in his direction. "Be thorough."

* * *

The best parts were the mornings, he later decided. The busy mornings, the lazy mornings- either way, there was always that brief moment when he first woke up and saw Jemma slumbering next to him, and somehow it settled him for the day. The feeling of rightness and completion was something that never failed to warm him, even when the alarm clock went off sixty seconds later and startled her into wakefulness.

On one slow morning she half-woke, snuggling against his shoulder with a sleepy sigh. "Sometimes I think I dream you," she said in a murmur, looping an arm over his chest. "And I'm going to wake up in that drafty little apartment, all alone."

"You and me both," he admitted, turning his head to breathe in the scent of her hair.

"No," she said, almost thoughtfully, "you're never alone."

And then she fell asleep again, leaving him blinking at the dim ceiling in confusion.

* * *

"In love is a good look for you," Bobbi told him in a dry, fond tone. She was seated at his kitchen table, a beer in one hand. "Makes me glad that I didn't seriously try to discourage Jemma when she first admitted her crush."

"I don't know what stopped you, but I'm grateful for it." Phil eyed the contents of the crockpot, judging that another hour on low heat would only improve the stew. Jemma's parent-teacher conferences were bound to run long. "Jemma is… words fail me."

"'Adorable' works," Bobbi replied thoughtfully. "And 'persistent'. She certainly knows what she wants."

"Hopefully she'll never come to her senses where I am involved." He poured himself a glass of red wine, joining her at the table. "Is this a friendly visit, or are you on a mission?" he asked, having known Bobbi for long enough to be at least a bit wary.

"Both," she answered easily. "I really am happy for you."

"But…?" he asked, feeling faint unease. Bobbi was not known for pulling her punches, metaphorical or otherwise.

"I was just wondering how Jemma was adjusting to the move." She shrugged. "It's been almost a month, right?"

"Almost a month exactly. I'm surprised you're not asking Jemma."

"Oh, I did." She took a swig of her beer. "She's ecstatic. Over the moon. So cheerful it's almost sickening."

His faint unease was no longer very faint. "She's unhappy?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"No, I don't think so. Not exactly."

Phil kept his gaze on Bobbi even as he considered the past month. She was not entirely off-base, much as he hated to admit it.

He had just been ignoring it.

So much of the past month had been good: the pleasure of spending every evening with Jemma, the comfort that came with sleeping next to her. The quiet hours they spent reading on the couch, and hearing her have one-sided conversations with Sif. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed living with someone he loved.

But he did sometimes feel that Jemma was acting almost as if she were a guest on her best behavior. It wasn't a constant feeling, but an occasional one; something he mainly noticed when they were discussing how to best divvy up chores, or when they were drawing up a grocery list, or when- at her insistence- they sat down and politely argued over who would pay which bill.

He knew why the last item was such a problem, at least in her eyes. After spending so long being taken advantage of, her unwillingness to even accidentally take advantage of others was quite plain. Phil hoped that time would ease the problem, at least when it came to allowing him to take care of her.

And- and this struck him suddenly, as if his brain had been just waiting for the right moment- she had developed a habit of compulsively tidying. Jemma was neat, for certain, but he had never seen quite this level of tidiness from her, whether in her apartment or what had been his home.

"It's always hard when two people move in together," he began slowly, now wondering what, exactly, Bobbi had seen and decided to share. "No matter how much they love each other."

"Oh, I know that. When Hunter and I married we fought over the most ridiculous things, like whether or not his nicked and stained spatulas could be thrown away. He once," Bobbi said with a slight frown, "tried to toss my favorite sheets."

"Your _Star Wars_ sheets?" he asked with a grin.

"I nearly divorced him then and there. Of course," she admitted, "they were ten years old and kind of faded, but they had nostalgia going for them. We finally compromised and bought a set with some ridiculously high thread count. They didn't really live up to the hype, and they're beginning to fray."

"You just didn't buy the right sheets. The ones Audrey bought are still-"

He stopped abruptly. Just hearing the words aloud had been a shock, and not in the way they would have been even two years ago.

Bobbi leveled a steady gaze on him. "You're still sleeping on sheets that Audrey bought?" she asked in apparent disbelief.

"They're very high end." Phil wasn't sure why he felt so defensive. "They don't look worn at all, and they feel wonderful."

"Oh, God." Bobbi dropped her head into her hands, then looked up a few seconds later. "Phil, do me a favor. Never tell Jemma she's been having sex on sheets your dead wife bought." Her gaze sharpened. "Phillip Coulson, please tell me you at least bought a new mattress."

His jaw dropped at that. " _Bobbi_ ," he protested, horrified. "Five years ago. Why would you ask me that?"

"Because it needed to be asked!"

Phil drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Logically, he knew that sheets were just sheets, regardless of who had bought them. And mattresses were just mattresses… except weirdly, they weren't.

"So, new sheets," he conceded, unsure if the guilt he was feeling was for Jemma or Audrey. A mix of both, most likely. "You look like you have a few more points to jab into my soft spots. Say what you came here to say."

Her sigh somehow managed to be both irritated and fond. "Phil, look at your house," she said, standing and pulling him into the living room with her.

He glanced around the room, unsure what her point was. "Looks the same."

"Exactly." She walked over to the far wall, pointing as she went at several pieces of art- all pieces he had collected with his first wife. "This, and this, and that, and the blanket on the couch, and these," she said, gesturing at the shelf that held Audrey's favorite books. "I knew you in New York, Phil," she said seriously, moving on to tap a finger against several films in his collection. "I knew Audrey. I loved her. And I knew the apartment you shared with her." She stopped in the middle of the floor, her point already obvious. "Where is Jemma in this home, Phil?"

At a loss, his gaze fell automatically on the one bit of Jemma he could see: the book she had been reading the night before, abandoned on a side-table when he had lured her off to bed. "Oh."

"I'm not saying you have to sell the house, or paint the living room TARDIS blue, or dump Audrey's china in a dumpster. I just-"

Bobbi paused, and shrugged. "I worry Jemma feels like she's been given a corner," she said. "I'll be the first to admit that her incredibly cheap furniture deserved to be tossed onto a bonfire, so I understand why only her personal possessions made the move, but I don't even see evidence that she's unpacked her books- and I know that woman has books, because I'm pretty sure she skimped on groceries more than once to feed her book habit."

He had suspected as much, and the only reason she hadn't unpacked her books was that he had promised to install more shelves, and had yet to follow through on the promise. "You've given me a lot to think about," he admitted. "And I'm the one in the wrong, here."

"That's what I like about you, Phil," she said, giving him a smile. "You actually admit when you're wrong."

She left, at that, obviously feeling secure in the knowledge that Phil wouldn't be forgetting their conversation. She was right: now that he had gotten her viewpoint, all of the little uncertainties that had been nagging him finally had a name and a voice.

He made a slow circuit through the house, noting every instance of Audrey's stamp on the place (even beyond the grave, for she had been dead for almost a year when he had moved to Boston) and the few small scraps of Jemma that were creeping in.

Creeping in politely, he felt. As if she were trying to take up as little room as possible, and he found the thought painful. Was that the root of this compulsive tidying? That if she removed as much of herself as possible, he might be more forgiving of what little did appear?

He had, at least, had the sense to remove his and Audrey's wedding portrait from his bedroom before first taking Jemma to bed. He hadn't been a complete fool.

He ended the tour in their bedroom, rather amazed that he had managed to forget- or grow used to, he supposed- how much of Audrey he had moved to Boston with him. Only in the bedroom was her presence less: Jemma's clothing in the closet, her toiletries laid out in the bathroom, a stack of books on her bedside table.

But there were still the sheets and other bedding.

And the bed-frame, come to think of it.

The sound of a key in the lock, and then the front door was opening and Jemma's heels were clicking against the hardwood of the entry. "Phil?" she called, sounding a little breathless. "I'm home."

"In here," he called back, his gaze fixed on the duvet cover and how it complimented the pillow cases. Gentle, soft colors. Very Audrey.

Jemma joined him in under a minute, still wearing her jacket and scarf.

And the scarf… was not hers.

"It's still chilly," she said cheerfully, unbuttoning her gray jacket. "You'd think, in April-"

She stopped abruptly. "Phil?"

In answer he smiled slightly, touching his fingertips against the thin cashmere scarf she wore. "Was this in the hall closet?" he asked, adding yet another tick in the Audrey column he was running in his head.

"Yes," she replied, looking puzzled. "It was cold this morning, and I was running late. I thought Bobbi might have left it."

He saw the moment when realization flooded her eyes, and the stricken look that accompanied it left his mouth dry. "Oh," she said softly, tugging the scarf from around her neck almost frantically. "I'm so sorry. I should have known-"

He took her hands, stilling them halfway through the act of unwrapping the fabric. "Jemma." He squeezed her hands gently before releasing them and pulling the scarf free himself. "I had no idea it was in there. I thought I had given it to her sister."

She was still watching him with uncertainty, even after he dropped the scarf unceremoniously onto the bed. "Don't let it worry you," he said, pulling her into his arms. "It's not a problem at all."

"I should have known," she said slowly, "I-"

"Everything in this house is yours," he said, interrupting, and drew back just enough to meet her eyes. "Everything, Jemma."

She searched his face. "Thank you," she said finally, still looking strangely haunted. "But perhaps you could point out things that… that I might not want to disturb."

Suddenly he was very, very glad that Bobbi had decided to speak her mind. "Do you have any plans on Saturday?"

"No," she answered slowly, looking unsettled by the quick change in topic. "What would you like to do?"

"Go shopping." He pressed a quick kiss against her forehead as she regarded him in shock. "I've realized- rather belatedly- that I desperately want you to think of this as _our_ house, and not mine. What would please you, Jemma? New paint? New furniture?"

She looked so befuddled that he sat on the bed and pulled her onto his lap, ignoring the fact that he could suddenly remember with odd clarity the day Audrey had come home with new bed linens.

"You have a lovely home, Phil," Jemma said, brow creased.

" _I_ had a lovely home. _We_ haven't done any decorating yet."

She frowned, but turned her head to regard the room. "I really don't think I could improve on the paint choices," she said after a minute. "But maybe we could add a few throw pillows," she added shyly. "Or put up some new pictures… though your Captain America collection would, of course, remain intact."

"We could do both." He finished unbuttoning her jacket and drew it off her shoulders, eyeing her floral blouse with pleasure. She always reminded him of a rose garden, one vibrant with life. "And new sheets. What color do you want?"

As casually as he had phrased it, she still seemed to find the hidden meaning. Jemma gazed down at the bedding, her expression gentler than he might have expected. "We don't have to buy new sheets," she said calmly, but when she lifted her gaze he thought he spotted something amiss in her eyes. "They're very nice."

"I think we do," he responded in a firm tone, and a hint of amusement appeared on her face.

"You know," she said, her expression still an odd mix of amusement and what he thought might be hurt, "I must say that Audrey had excellent taste."

She paused, obviously examining his expression to determine whether or not speaking aloud Audrey's name would distress him.

It didn't. Audrey had been dead for long enough that she remained a largely pleasant memory, and not even a day to day one for him. His error had lain not in making the house an intentional shrine to Audrey, but an entirely unintentional one.

"In both bed linens and men," Jemma finished after a long moment, her hands flexing nervously against his shoulders. "But would you mind if we freshened up the bedroom with some new things?"

"Not at all." He leaned in and kissed her lingeringly, and this time she returned his kiss. "Saturday. Sheets, duvet covers, pillows."

Jemma looked as if she were wanting to add something to that list, but before he could ask her lips were against his, her weight pushing him down against the mattress. "I'm very lucky," she murmured, her lips moving to brush against his neck. "How sweet you are."

And that, more than anything, was the final straw. That she would consider herself lucky because he was willing to make a few minor updates to his decorating scheme… as if that were a major sacrifice, as if it were something that she hardly dared to ask of him.

"Do you want to move?" he asked suddenly, as her tongue darted out to sweep against the pulse point in his neck.

In response she sat up, her weight happily balanced across his hips. "Move?"

"To a new house?" He kept his gaze on her, though he waved one hand in the general direction of the room. "One we choose together?"

She looked more stunned by that offer that anything else he had said in the past ten minutes. "I like this house."

"Oh."

"I really like this house." She crossed her arms over her chest, a new stubbornness playing across her face. "Perhaps we won't die here, but I'm not leaving this house anytime soon, thank you."

"Okay." He settled his hands lightly on her hips. "Then we'll stay. I'm sorry."

She softened. "No, I overreacted." She leaned forward, one hand on the bed beside his head. "Phil, you're a widower. You loved Audrey. It's a fact. I would never ask you to completely put that from your mind."

"I know." He slipped his arms around her as she lay down against his chest, closing his eyes in relief as she cuddled close. "And I love you the more for it. But as eager as I was to have you living here, I never really made room for you. It's time I changed that. You deserve that- you deserve so much more than that."

"I was right about one thing," she said after a long moment of silence. "You are going to be an excellent husband."

"I certainly hope so."

"What if I'm not a good wife?" she asked in a barely audible voice.

He fought the urge to roll her beneath him or try to change their positions so that he could see her face. Tucked as she was against him, her tension was obvious. Instead he reached out and snagged the throw blanket at the end of the bed, dragging it over her. "I think you're going to be an amazing wife. You're already a fabulous fiancée."

"I want to be a good wife." She had relaxed minutely, but not nearly enough. "I- I sometimes worry that I barged in on you."

He did clutch her tighter at that. "Jemma, you've made my life so much better," he said, nuzzling his nose against her hair. "I wouldn't trade you for the world."

Sif jumped up onto the bed at that moment, staring down at them as if she doubted their sanity. "And Sif's happy to have you here," he added. "It's much easier for her to con cheese out of you than me."

Jemma's laugh was rather weak. "I just- I never wanted you to feel as if you had to give up Audrey. But even when I worried that I was being too aggressive, I kept moving forward."

"I'm not sure you've been aggressive enough," he admitted, thinking of his most recent tour of his own home. "Jemma, I swear to you that the only reason you're here now is because I want you here. I love you, and of the two of us I'm the one who needs to apologize." He barely cast a glance at Sif as she imperiously sat very close to his head. "Will you let me make it up to you?"

After a few seconds she wriggled in his grip, moving enough so that she could pull back and meet his gaze. "You really feel the need?" she asked, her expression understanding, but underlaid with enough yearning to make his heart clench.

"I really do."

"Okay." She settled against him again, ear pressed over his heart. "Okay."

* * *

Phil suspected that, of the two of them, he was the only one who approached shopping for new bedding with an almost religious fervor.

This was not typical of him.

"I don't think we need all the colors of the rainbow," Jemma said gently as he considered the massive display of the sheets. "These are very nice, but we just need one set."

"Two," he insisted, grabbing a set of the lightest shade of cream. "What about that blue?"

She frowned. "It would clash with the duvet."

"But not with your grandmother's quilt." He picked up the blue set, tilting it so that she could see it better in the light. "We'll move the old things to the guest room. Think how lovely these would look with that quilt."

To his horror, she wiped away a tear. "They really are the perfect color for it," she admitted, smiling tremulously. "You have such a good eye."

Tucking the two sets under one arm, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "Please don't cry, Jem." He gave her a soft smile, and risked a bit of humor. "We still have to buy throw pillows."

To his delight, she laughed, pressing the bit of cloth to her eyes and following him as he led her toward a department full of pillows. Small, large, tasseled- he had to stop, rather overwhelmed by the selection.

"Phil."

He looked toward her, anchored by her presence in a moment of shopping confusion. "We don't have to buy everything today," she reminded him, laying a hand gently on his arm. "We have sheets. That's not a bad start."

He thought about their living room, and the fluffy earth-tone pillows that he had carted from New York to Boston. "Will you pick out a few, Jem?" he asked, almost pleading. "Just a few."

She held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "Green, maybe?" she suggested. "And some cream. That would look nice, don't you think?"

Jemma wandered ahead, examining a variety of pillows as he held back, breathing a bit easier as she took the reins. She looked so lovely with her hair spilling around her shoulders, her rose-pink sweater picking up the slight blush in her cheeks. Gentle and a spitfire in turn.

He ignored the commiserating glance a man trailing his wife shot him, instead reaching out to take two of the four pillows Jemma had selected. "These will be nice in the living room, right?" She considered a nearby selection of throw blankets, and after a moment pulled a cream wool blanket from the stack. "What do you think?"

"I think it's perfect." He touched it, approving of the feel of the soft weave under his fingers. "Sif will love it," he added with a grin, pleased when she gave an amused sigh.

"Sif will poke holes in it," she corrected, but tucked the blanket under her arm regardless.

They were making their way to the register when she suddenly slowed, barely a half step behind him, but enough to catch his eye. He followed her gaze, and found… plates.

Bone china, to be specific. Hints of light blue and the delicate tracery of roses and birds. Far from the restrained white with silver accents in his cupboards.

"We could buy new china," he murmured in her ear, and she started.

"No, that would be ridiculous," she said firmly, marching ahead. "The Wedgewood in the cabinets is perfectly lovely. Replacing it would be a sin."

He eyed her, then looked back at the display, noting the brand and style. Something to think on, for sure.

* * *

They made the bed together with a set of the new sheets, fresh from the dryer. He thought Jemma looked lighter, somehow, or perhaps he was just projecting his own state of mind onto her. Sheets and pillows- just a start, he knew, but he had other projects in mind, now: the bookcase he still owed her (ordered and in transit), the china in the cabinets (perhaps he would call Audrey's sister?), the art on the walls.

The latter item was something he wouldn't attempt to fix all at once. He remembered how he and Audrey had collected those pieces, bit by bit, visiting galleries and art fairs over the course of years. Several of the paintings still held emotional value, but he was more than willing to rearrange the bulk of his collection and perhaps even sell a few pieces. He looked forward to discovering artwork that made Jemma smile, and finding the perfect place on the walls for each painting and photograph.

He examined the quilt with new appreciation as they spread it over the sheets. "When did your grandmother make this?"

"While I was working on my first doctorate." She lifted a corner, rubbing her thumb over the neat stitching. "She was always sending me care packages and cards. Though she never said anything directly, I always felt as if she worried about how hard I worked." Jemma carefully released the corner, smoothing it down. "She died a year or so after finishing it."

"She was always in your corner, wasn't she?" He rounded the bed to stand next to her. "I wish I could have met her."

"The two of you would have gotten along very well. She had a wicked sense of humor," Jemma remembered with a laugh. "And while she never criticized me for spending so much time buried in my books, I did once overhear her deliver an absolutely blistering lecture to my parents about how shameful it was that I never was allowed any time to play."

"You're right. I think we would have had a great deal in common."

Jemma hugged him tightly, then, a smile on her face. "Thank you."

"For what, sheets?" he replied lightly, running a hand down her hair. "I'm filled with home improvement fervor, Jem. This is just the beginning."

"Don't go too far, Phil. I really do like this house."

"I know. But…"

He met her gaze, considering another item on his to-do list. "There is that room next to ours. It's just storage at the moment, but maybe we could clear it out; put up some fresh paint."

"For what, another guest room?"

"No." He spread a hand across the small of her back, smiling down at her. "It's been awhile since we first discussed it, but maybe in a year or so we could look into turning it into a nursery."

Her breath caught. "I would like that," she said after a moment, a smile appearing. "What an excellent idea."

"And I was thinking it would be nice to add a deck to the back of the house…"

"I like that idea, as well."

"Maybe screen part of it in."

She tugged him down for a kiss, and he obliged eagerly. "Sif would like that very much, I'm sure," she said afterward, a tad breathless. "You have been making plans, haven't you?"

"You'll tell me if you want to change something, won't you?" He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "Anything, whether it's adding a swing to the front porch or ripping out the carpet in the bedroom."

"Yes, I will. And I like that first idea."

"I'll put it on my list, then." He brushed his thumb against her bottom lip, considering his next words. "About the china."

"We really don't need to replace the china, Phil," she said hurriedly. "What you- we- have is perfectly lovely."

"It is," he agreed. "But I kept it as a remembrance. You were right to point out that I'll never forget Audrey. I don't need to keep our home filled with things to remind me of her, not when doing so would be a disservice to my living, breathing, soon-to-be wife.

"Besides," he added, lowering his voice. "Our children have to eat off something."

"Children would likely break half the set," she pointed out.

"So we buy new plates," he replied with a shrug. "Let's feed them on china we pick out together. Like the pattern you were looking at earlier." He gave her a gentle smile. "Little birds for our little birds?"

Abruptly she tightened her arms around him, pressing her face against his shoulder. "I did like that pattern quite a bit," she admitted, her voice slightly muffled. "You're sure?"

"Audrey had several nieces and nephews. I'm thinking one of them would be very happy to inherit one last gift from their aunt."

"The expense of replacing it, though…"

"That's why we have a wedding registry." They could fill in the gaps after the fact, which would probably suit Jemma better than shocking her by going out and buying an entire set in one fell swoop.

"Do you think Audrey's family would like to attend the wedding?" she asked, pulling back to meet his gaze. "Or would that be strange?"

"I'm still on very good terms with her sister, and her children as well. Sarah would like to meet you."

An understatement, actually. When Phil had first admitted that he was in a relationship, Sarah's response had been "Finally." When she heard that he was engaged, he could actually hear over the phone the champagne cork she popped in celebration.

"Then we should invite them." Jemma laid her hands gently against his chest, her smile bright. "What made you think of all this, Phil?"

"Bobbi and May asked several pointed questions," he admitted. "I was a little slow on the uptake."

"You would have come around eventually, I'm sure," she replied. "Remind me to thank them for being nosy."

"I was stuck in a rut." He laid a hand against her cheek, sweeping his thumb along the soft skin covering her cheekbone. "I'm so very, very happy that you're here with me, Jemma."

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." She pressed a kiss against the edge of his hand, her smile still light and unworried. "We still have a few hours before supper. Perhaps we could steal the new blanket from Sif and watch something?"

"We still haven't finished watching the last few episodes of _The Great British Bake Off_ ," he replied with a teasing grin. "I'm in the mood for congenial high drama."

"You do like living dangerously, don't you?"

* * *

Two weeks later: bookcase installed, two sets of new china in the cabinet mixing with the old ("Because we're starting the collection early," he had said, handing Jemma her morning tea in a new, delicate cup), and one new photograph on the foyer wall.

"That is a surprisingly good picture," Jemma said when they hung it up. "Skye caught us at just the right moment."

As she reached out to nudge the frame level, he considered the captured moment for the hundredth time, still delighted by it: him and her standing on the stoop of Bobbi's apartment building, eyes meeting as they laughed over some joke, their fingers intertwined.

Jemma turned away from the photograph, reclaiming his attention. "It's such a nice afternoon," she said smiling. "Shall we take a walk?"

"Yes."

And he followed her out into the sunlight, down the tree-lined street and past the budding flowers, her hand clasped in his.


End file.
